


Ugly and Uglier

by 98_7



Category: Original Work, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 03:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18241703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/98_7/pseuds/98_7
Summary: A certain delinquient is caught blackmailing teachers in his academy again so he is sentenced to a week of tutoring over at U.A. High School as punishment. Then, he meets Bakugou. Could this get any worse?





	Ugly and Uglier

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commission for my best friend! They own the OC. I might do more content for this cool delinquient academy idea.

The bell rang, announcing the commencement of third period, as he plopped down in a seat in front of the counselor’s desk, draping his legs over one arm of the chair and leaning against the other. He obnoxiously chewed gum with his mouth open as he twirled his necklace around his index finger over and over again, waiting for the counselor to retrieve all the write-up slips he had received so far this semester. A lovely voice interrupted the bell, gently beginning the morning announcements with “Now listen to me, my dear students…” and Masato quickly shut off the speaker with just a quick thought before the voice could lully him into submission and obedience. ‘No, too tired.’ Mr. Iimura walked into the room and let the door slam behind him as he sat behind his desk, his icy gaze steady on the delinquent he was far too familiar with. He quietly laid out the slips in a line on the desk like a deck of cards. The student was waiting for a magic trick. He smiled at the counselor, his brows raising with anticipation for what was to come.  


“New record, right?” he asked smugly. Mr. Iimura was not amused in the slightest, however. The man stared at him for a bit — Masato calmly held his gaze while blowing the biggest bubble he could muster — before squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing the right side of his face. He was so tired of this kid challenging authority. Although his quirk was mostly used to sting heroes in the ass for fun, he had decided to blackmail every teacher in the school for street points. Of course, this meant nothing to the actual teachers since their dirty laundry being hung out in the open to dry just made them seem more intimidating to the students. However, they were still required to write him up for disruption and delinquency. It was Mr. Iimura’s job to bring him in for his weekly check-up and slap his hand for his misdeeds since he lost rock-paper-scissors again. Lucky him.  


“All you did was tilt the power balance to our favor, Masato,” and Masato quickly stopped listening there, drifting off into a universe where he could just sit at home on his computer, scrolling through the news for an unfortunate target. Oh, actually — if he went on one of his rare monologues, Masato knew this meeting would run longer than the usual twenty minutes, and he was not willing to spend any more time than mandatory with this man. Time to do something about it. He pretended to doze off as he droned on — eyelids grew heavy, eyelashes fluttered, his head tilted back and he finally let out snores loud enough to shake the man’s nerves. Soon enough, the counselor’s voice came to an end so he peeked at him. The other was just staring at him, his eyes a deeper shade of blue than before, which just made the student roll his eyes and sit up. Fine, fine. No need for another fire to start up in this room after the last incident. He’ll play along for once, just to get this over with.  


“What’s my punishment then?” he asked with a soft defeated sigh. There was no fun with this one, he was either too heated or too cold. At least the other counselor, Ms. Shinya, was sarcastic. But he didn’t expect the punishment to be ridiculously harsh, he was waiting for a day or two of suspension or a writing assignment on how harmful his actions were. Practically getting off scot-free. He blew another bubble, which was definitely a mistake because it popped too early and ended up covering his lips with an uncomfortable sticky disaster. Oh God, maybe this was his punishment after all. Karma was coming to dig its teeth into his ass and never let go. Like an animal stalking its prey, it waited until he thought he was safe to attack so viscously. What a cruel world this was. Later, on a hot sleepless night, he would lay in bed and look back at this horrible moment — a blight on his spotless record of being cool and mysterious. Frustrated with the consequences of having an attitude, he attempted to bite the gum away and free his mouth, almost like a dog trying to chew through his collar and an amused tight-lipped smile tugged at Mr. Iimura’s lips, completely satisfied with the end of the gum.  


“Well…” he began, leaning back in his chair, “I think it’s time to put you in tutoring since you need to be isolated from actual teachers.” That, admittedly, made Masato’s cheeks burn. He angrily bit down on his tongue while rubbing away the gum residue left on his face, eyes on a wall far from where the man was sitting. Tutoring? TUTORING? Hours on hours of bullshit from a person his same age, over-explaining a topic he most likely understood. His grades have never reflected that he needed extra help. No, they couldn’t do this to him. His eyebrows furrowed together. He cut the circulation in his index finger by tightly wrapping the chain around it and tugging. This could mean the end of his days of enjoyment — this sounded worse than being locked in a ball-and-cock torture dungeon. Static came from the speaker above. Then, a low buzz. The man glanced up at the ceiling. “Listen, I know you’re angry but what did you think we’d do? Just allow you torment whoever you want? Why do you think you go to this school, Masato?”  


His eyes snapped to where Mr. Iimura was sitting. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I wasn’t tormenting anyone. I wanted to figure out who my teachers really were. Is that so wrong? Hm?” His voice was steady and calm but it was a bit strained as if he was talking through clenched teeth, the buzzing overhead was getting louder. God, his head hurt so much from restraining himself from yelling because of his pride, his finger ached and he could hear the blood roaring in his ears. He let the chain loosen up around his finger because it was starting to throb. Tutoring. He’s going to look so fucking stupid. After a contest between the two to see if one would break, just a couple of seconds of silence, he anxiously continued. “Are you really going to do this to me?”  


The counselor grabbed a pen, pensively pressed the bottom against his desk, and paused to give Masato a look before taking out his notepad and scribbling something down. “I think this will bring you down a notch, Masato. Stop throwing a tantrum —,” he pointed up at the buzzing speaker on the ceiling with his pen for effect, “— and deal with the consequences of your actions. This is how it works in the real world. It begins today, after school.” He ripped the sheet out of the notepad and slid it across the desk. Masato just stared at him in disbelief. “Don’t cause trouble there too or I’d be forced to give you a real consequence. I have enough paperwork to deal with. After two absences, I’ll be called. Check-in, sit with someone, and learn something new.” The teenager slowly leaned forward to slide the paper closer, so that he could read what was scribbled. A location, a time, a name. His stare could burn a hole into the wood of the table at this point. Okay. He grabbed the sheet of paper, which crinkled in his tight grip, and abruptly stood up.  


“Thank you for wasting my time for the hundredth time, Mr. Iimura. Glad that I’ve been punished like the real criminal I am. Justice served at last.” The speaker was screeching at this point, and the door opened to reveal Ms. Shinya, who was only popping in with a stack of files in her arms to see why it was acting up. Damn, electronics nowadays, right? She legitimately looked like she was in distress because of the noise, as it was quickly climbing in volume, and confused as to why it was acting up again after they looked at it last week, but then she spotted Masato and it all made sense. People with his type of quirk are so difficult to deal with when they are upset, especially with so much technology around them in this day and age — but it is their job to clean up the technological disaster after a meeting with this kid. This was nothing at least. He didn’t stop for a conversation as he brushed past her, her mouth opening to address the scene laid out in front of her. “Hey, Masato,” was all she managed to say, trailing off before he grabbed the knob and began closing the door behind him. Once free of that suffocating room, the screeching stopped. He concentrated on the rhythm of his breathing as he walked to his current class already in session. They had figured out that the best way to get to him was by hurting his pride and that was annoying. The rebellious teenager took a glance at the wrinkled paper in his hand — he would have to go to U.A High School’s library for the torture they ordained — and crumbled it up to shoot it into a garbage bin in the empty hallway with the flick of his wrist. He missed.  


The rest of the school day was rough once the rest of his grade caught wind that he was sentenced to torture. It was all light teasing, since a lot of people respected him for being able to handle any situation with ease, but his blood was boiling. This was humiliating. Although he was definitely not one of the top students, he was a good student at least. Regardless, he forced a smile and joked with his peers about the whole thing until the school day was brought to an end by the last roar of the bell. He took his time to grab his things and begin the walk to the academy nearby. The minute he pushed open the main door of the door, a brisk wind blew him back a step, guiding dancing fallen leaves into the building. Masato stepped on one to hear the crunch beneath his boot. He buttoned up his long black coat and pulled his hat’s peak a little further down, to secure the cap in place so the wind couldn’t whisk it out of reach. The day was particularly cold and bleak. He found that a little amusing. The path to the other school wasn’t very complicated so he allowed himself to zone out as he walked, imagining what the world would be like if he had the power to control the weather instead of electronics - he’d most likely call for a flood that would wipe all vile vermin off of the Earth. But who would be Noah?  


Within the hour, he reached the entrance of the campus and he had to stand underneath the overhead arch for a bit, just to take it all in. It was so different from the Houtan Reform School for Troubled Youths. Even on such a dreary day, it seemed so welcoming and grand, like a mother with her arms wide open, ready to embrace you. This is where he was meant to attend, apparently. His teachers had all seen “promise” in him before his life fell apart at such a young age. Once, he had been sent to get something from an instructor in the teacher’s lounge and had heard them talking about how bright he seemed because of his quirk and determination. It had excited him. He remembered how proudly he smiled to himself as he peeked into the room, the racing of his thoughts along with his heart, thinking, ‘Wow, me? A hero?’ Oh, how naive he had been to think that heroes existed. They were all cruel and self-motivated. They didn’t care about what families they tore apart or saving innocent lives — it was only their ratings and the money. One of his hands slipped into the pocket of his pants and he rubbed his thumb against his wallet, where a picture of his mother was kept. It wasn’t only the tutoring that bothered him, really. It was that he would have to share the same air as these horrendous buffoons. He hesitantly resumed walking down the path again towards the reflective building, frowning. Well. He had no other choice. Since this was after business hours for U.A as well, the school was eerily empty and quiet. His memories of the tour he took of the school when he was a kid were distant and fading fast — he tried his best to forget his early fascination with heroes. It made him feel dirty as if his innocent interest betrayed his mother. The boy decided to focus on finding the library.  


By some miracle, after countless minutes wandering the silent hallways at a careless pace, he managed to find the library. He entered cautiously — hoping to see a familiar face from the reform school, since tutoring was a common punishment handed out. However, everyone sitting at the table was a stranger. The teacher was only recognizable because every U.A. instructor was some random hero, who could pop up on television from time to time. He was greatly disappointed. It seemed like he was interrupting a scene, a particular firecracker was going off on another student for misunderstanding a question and the teacher was beginning to glare. Masato cleared his throat and picked up the pen carefully lined up with the sign-up sheet to get his attention.  


“Masato, is it? Oh, you’re from the other school,” said the indistinguishable hero and the delinquent didn’t say a word back. He just shrugged. Now, he could have completely disregarded him but he learned that showing blatant disrespect was much tastier and he noticed the twinge of annoyance make the other’s eyebrow twitch. “Well, Masato. I’m assigning you to Bakugou. He’ll be patient with you, I’m sure.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Bakugou was the one embarrassing himself by going off on this other miserable human being and that this assignment just because he was from the reform school but he didn’t give a single fuck. Masato shrugged. He walked over to the table and loudly dropped his bookbag onto it, interrupting the screamfest unfolding in front of him.  


“You’re free now.” The unfortunate victim grabbed his own bag and moved away. He took his place and took out his notebook before blindly rummaging in his bag for a pen, which he was pretending was out of reach at the bottom. Bakugou had quieted down for now but he was nowhere near calm, it was almost like you could see steam coming out of his ears in thick puffs like a speeding train. “You know, Bakugou, that wasn’t very nice of you. Didn’t your mother teach you how to be a good boy?” he asked in a smug tone, but didn’t give away his condescension with a matching grin. Instead, his lips were pressed into a flat line as he glanced over. The other boy’s eye twitched. Fantastic. “Manners are —”  


“Guess what, I don’t give a shit. You don’t know me,” Bakugou interrupted, as expected. His voice was soaked in anger, narcissism, and impatience. Did he hit a nerve with the comment about his mom? “Are you going to start making ‘yo mama jokes’ or are we beginning any time soon?” Yes, he did hit a nerve. Masato would rather leave the building with his ass intact so he decided to hurry things along. Without another word, the tall annoyance effortlessly grabbed the pen he had been playing with on the bottom of his bookbag for the past few seconds, to make Bakugou wait and fester in his anger, and set it down on his notebook. It looked like he had met his match. Neither they had a filter and this could get ugly quick. He felt like they were already dancing each other in the boxing ring as a crowd cheered them on and he was going to make sure his ego won this round. At least he was calmer than the other. Bakugou seemed like the type of person to set the whole building on fire if a mosquito flew past his ear.  


“Alright, senpai. What do you have in store for me today?” Bakugou’s nose crinkled up, squinting in frustration and confusion at this student sitting in front of him, now subconsciously rolling the pen around on the notebook with a finger. He obviously didn’t go to his school. His all-black uniform completely gave that away. So did he come from the reform school nearby? That’d explain the attitude. Yes, there were uncooperative students in U.A. but there was this hint of malice in this boy’s eyes — he hated him already and he had just sat down. But, obviously, neither of them wanted to be here so why was there such a hateful undertone to every word said to him?  


“Don’t call me senpai, what the hell’s wrong with you?” His head shook in disbelief as he asked, eyebrows furrowing. No, stop… Whatever. He was going to let it go. Bakugou closed his eyes for a moment, fingers rubbing his temple, and he drew in a deep breath like his therapist had instructed him to do in situations like this. “No, no, shut up,” he said, just as Masato tried to say something snarky — he caught his lips apart as he opened his eyes again. “We’re doing Math. Okay?” His voice sounded so restrained. He wanted to lose it, his body ached for it, the roar of the flames and this stupid asshole’s eyebrows singed away and… But, no. Everything was alright. Everything was under control. He had to keep the switch off because that’s why he was here in the first place. Mr. Aizawa had said this was the best way to teach him patience, understanding, and self-control.  


“Oh, like two plus two equals five?” Masato asked, blinking innocently. Bakugou stared. He genuinely felt like he took the biggest shit in his pants and had been sitting in it for hours. His heart was pounding and he could barely breathe. And he smiled. He always smiled while fighting, that awful blood-chilling smile, and this one wasn’t any different. Masato didn’t know what was about to hit him, he just subconsciously rolled the pen around on the notebook as he waited for some ridiculous reaction, but the teacher watching them knew and he quickly grabbed a fire extinguisher as Bakugou lifted up a hand with an unstable fireball forming in his palm, his lips quivering.  


“TWO PLUS TW—.” Foam was sprayed all over him and everyone in the room finally turned to look at the sudden disturbance, unaware of what caused such a commotion. He spat foam out of his mouth, he began to rapidly swipe at the excess all over his body, and his eyes quickly went from Masato to the instructor on duty. Bakugou shot up his chair, knocking it back so hard it fell on its side. “Mr. Aizawa, did you hear him? First, you assign me this fu—,” more foam was shot at him. At that name, Masato took another look at the man towering over them both. That was Aizawa Shota? He seemed less impressive in person, especially with a fire extinguisher aimed at his student and an exhausted unapologetic look on his face. Couldn’t he have just erased his quirk?  


“I think this enough for the day, Bakugou. I’m adding another day to your punishment.” Aizawa’s steady gaze switched to Masato. “And I think you should go. It seems like he’s not ready yet.” That sentence fired him up again. He started screaming obscenities, waving his arms and stomping around. Luckily for everyone else in the room, the foam was preventing him from becoming a human torch despite working up a storm. The hero calmly reached into a pocket to pull out a phone, presumably to call All-might to handle this mess because there was no way in Hell he was restraining this kid throwing a tantrum alone. Masato shrugged, stood up from the chair, and put away his things. At least he could go home early. He didn’t really appreciate being part of this man’s way of teaching this out of control brat a lesson but if it meant having this much fun again, he didn’t mind. Undisturbed in the slightest, he started walking towards the door… but decided to turn around for a quick second and lift up a hand towards his face.  


“Call me,” he mouthed. Bakugou screeched and ran towards him. Mr. Aizawa grabbed him and pulled him back just in time.  


Later at night, while laying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, he realized he was thinking about what had happened. Never before had his mind drifted off to school things during late night thought sessions but here he was, rewinding through the day and remembering how quickly that guy had lost his shit. He had never thought that a student that was supposed to be a hero one day could harbor so much exasperation in his heart. Masato could even see the fire in his eyes, the twitch in his eyelid, how tense his body was as he just sat in front of him and spoke to him. He was always on the edge of exploding in flames. And they thought they could somehow mold him into a righteous hero? Maybe what he needed was some dick. He giggled at his own musing and allowed his eyelids to close as his body felt heavier. Sleep would take him away from his ponderings. Honestly, he was a bit too excited to see the spiky-haired freak the next day. It was a welcomed change of pace.  


The school day was a blur. His mind was set on Bakugou. And that’s how it went for a week. He would wake up, get ready for school, and absentmindedly breeze through the day. It was almost like his uncontrollable passion had captivated him on that very first day. It had caught him off-guard for sure and now he was obsessed. He had never known of a villainous would-be hero with frustration and resentment pinned to his heart. Rain or shine, he arrived at the library, completely ignored Mr. Aizawa, and plopped down at the table closest to the door. The sessions always started the same way. All he had to do was start an argument over something simple — what two plus two equaled, if the Earth was round, whether the moon was made out of cheese — and Bakugou’s fiery wrath would be quickly extinguished by cold foam once the instructor had enough with his outburst. It was like clockwork.  


However, on another late night, Masato decided to take the time to run his name through his database and his personal search engine, both programs constructed for situations like these. He wanted to uncover every dirty secret that he could find in all corners of the interweb. It was time to unravel Bakugou’s forbidden lore at a much quicker pace; his punishment was only supposed to last for a few more days so time was too limited for small talk. Some would call this creepy and invasion of privacy but he called it being innovative and taking advantage of your vast resources. After a quick glance, the light of his laptop wasn’t as blinding as the reeking skeleton in this boy’s closet. Really, the skeleton had its head peeking through a crack in the door. It inspired him to change his approach. He began scooting his chair closer just to see Bakugou’s jaw clench and hear his breathing catch. There was light teasing thrown into the mix, said in a smooth voice, his long eyelashes fluttering. “Oh, you’re so smart, Baku,” he’d say, heads propped up by his hands, whenever the other would say something painfully obvious. It’d send him into a fury as violent as a thousand suns and he could never stop himself from laughing right in his face. His face was always as red as the unstable fireballs he tried so hard to aim at him. There was no stopping Masato now.  


Except, perhaps, the weekly meeting with the fortunate counselor who won hand-paper-scissors that day. He was calling into the counselor’s office during fourth period this time and he sat in the chair waiting for the winner twirling a lollipop in his mouth, the stick being twisted by two fingers. The door swung open. He didn’t bother to turn around to steal a glance. However, when the person reached his side as they made their way to the chair behind the desk, his eyes followed them like a hawk’s. It was Mr. Iimura. Masato tried biting on the lollipop but the outer layer wasn’t compromised yet, he would have to keep working on it.  


“So I heard you’ve made a friend. Katsuki Bakugou. Mr. Aizawa told me everything about your little game with him.” The tall man suddenly dropped a stack of papers onto the desk with a loud bang but neither of them jumped. Pathetic power move. He shrugged and sat down, smoothing his shirt down before beginning to sort through the papers. Masato assumed he was multi-tasking. “Well, you showed me. Congratulations. You survived without a single change to your attitude in life.” Oh, great, he was getting scolded again, time to get comfortable. He wasn’t going to say a word. This was the man who obviously hoped to humiliate him by forcing him to go to tutoring in a school based on false principles that made him sick. Everyone knew what heroes had done to his family. There wasn’t enough room in his heart for forgiveness. He slid further down in his chair so that he could easily prop his head up and zone out. The boy wondered if this is how the counselor treated everyone, as if they were his children, and then he realized that perhaps other people needed that. A father figure to guide them. This was a reform school, after all, and a lot of time these kids acted out because of their life at home. He had his own father though and for that, he was eternally grateful. “However,” the other emphasized, to capture the student’s attention once more and Masato blinked. “He did report that Bakugou’s anger has been more controlled as of lately. He has been able to deal with annoyances for longer periods of time. Maybe out of spite but…”  


He looked off to the side, focusing on a black spot on the wall. He had been concentrating so much on bothering the guy that he hadn’t noticed. Every day, it had taken him more and more to heat him up. Instead of exploding immediately, he had begun to grumble under his breath, with a soft pink in his cheeks, most likely from keeping everything bottled up so tightly even a team of firefighters wouldn’t be able to stop him an outburst. Bakugou was improving and striving to have a better grip on his control. Why? Did he actually care? Did he aspire to be one of them? His face twisted as a wave of disgust overwhelmed him, imagining another person falling for the fallacious promises that hero agencies and academies made to the youth. No one was truly pure, no one has good intentions and no matter what you do, no matter how badly you want to save people, you’ll always hurt someone. He shook his head.  


“I don’t care.” Masato stood up, bit his lollipop for a satisfying crunch, and shrugged with a grin. “I don’t care!” And he left. Not a soul attempted to stop him. He wasn’t going to wait around and listen to him go on and on about “maybe the experience was good afterall,” ask how he “possibly felt about impacting someone’s life like that,” blah blah blah. No time for stupid emotional shit that had nothing to do with him, he had an exciting life to live. He stayed in the building at least, wandering around their own library until the dismissal bell rang an hour or so later. Then, he found himself turning left instead of right and standing underneath the arch of U.A.’s grand entrance again. And just like that, rain began to pour — something coming for weeks with how bleak the days have been — but it was welcomed. The weight of his soaked clothes didn’t come close to the weight on his mind. Bakugou’s punishment had been increased to a week and a day, which meant this was the last day of his own nightmare. He gripped the strap of his bookbag, flicked the stick of the lollipop away into the grass, and finally walked towards the building, his mind blank. He followed the familiar route through the school, to the library. His heart was pounding as he walked into the room and sat down at the table nearest to the door. His words caught in his throat as he saw that red-hot angry gaze set on him, his heart was ice in that moment, but despite the anxiety unsettling his stomach, he grinned and leaned back in his chair.  
“Hey. Go out on a date with me?” How anti-climatic.  


“What?” Bakugou squinted at him. “You’re not even supposed to be here, moron. Leave me alone. It’s over.”  


“No. That’s not how it works. You’re supposed to say yes.” And he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He observed as the other tried to process what was happening. Guy walks in. Guy purposely annoys him for the entire week just to see him blow up because he thinks it’s funny. Same guy comes in, soaking wet, and asks him to go out on a date with him. Masato could guess what he was thinking. ‘You know what? It’s my turn to light a fire under his ass. Crazy tongue emoji! Fire emoji!’  


“You know what? Fine. But don’t expect me to show up. I’ll make sure to send my cum-rag in my place so you’re not lonely, freak.” Was this how he coped with being caught off-guard and confused? It was amusing. He quickly pulled out his notebook, which didn’t have a single word written in it after a week of sessions, and ripped out a piece of paper big enough for the name of the restaurant and the time he was free tomorrow night. Of course, it didn’t exist intact for long since Bakugou burned it up the second he got it but that was okay too. This was all for show. Masato could easily just find his number through his database and remind him of the details later. And he did, once he got home. He included a few heart emojis and sat there, waiting for a reply. One never came. It left him stumbling through the heavy fog in his head at night again.  


Why did he ask him out? Was it just the shock of the cold downpour that made him do something so impulsive? He just wanted to see if Bakugou really had changed. Was he really unable to set him off now, after just a few days of poking and prodding? Strange how all of this mattered so much to him. It was just haunting, thinking that someone so explosive could suddenly change like that because of him in such a short amount of time. Meeting him, it seemed impossible that he could ever be calm. Never could he remind him of something serene, like a small sailboat riding the pacific waves of the ocean, far from the unfairness and the impurity of society. He was corrupted by the very lies society fed them through the media. He only saw a roaring wildfire, too far gone to contain. Only after a week, he left such a fierce impression. The moment their eyes met it had felt like he had touched a steaming hot iron and still he was nursing the burn. But what got him so obsessed? He closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair until it was just standing on its back two legs. He allowed it to balance, pushing the line before safety and danger for a second at a time as he frantically sifted through all the possible answers. It was driving him mad. And then he got it. And he wished it had remained a mystery, a ghost in the back of his head, because the answer felt like a disfiguration of his morals. He was desperately wanting Bakugou to be a bad person so he could finally have the proof he wanted that heroes were terrible people, hard living proof that he could touch, see, feel. Masato’s chair fell back and he spilled onto the floor. He stayed there for a while. He missed his mother.  


Days passed. Memory faded. He found himself sleeping in classes again because of his nightlife, which made the days go by faster. The tutoring had pushed back a lot of his responsibilities at night but now he was back in business, digging up dirt and shoveling over the coffins holding a hero’s dead reputation. Lowlife heroes were dropping like flies but the media never reflected upon the epidemic, it was always “All-Might” this and “villain attack” that. He preferred it that way. Only when he woke up to an alert on his phone, he was reminded of Bakugou and what had transpired on that rainy day. His body felt too heavy for this. He hadn’t been able to catch up on sleep. He rubbed his eyes and slipped out of bed with a frustrated groan to open his closet and stare at all his clothes. Did it really matter what he wore to this?  


Okay, maybe he should have dressed like a normal person for once in his life but he couldn’t give less of a fuck, he thought to himself, as he waited at a table he had reserved in a restaurant nearby. He stood out in the sea of rural families just here to eat, dressed in all black. He wouldn’t stand out at a funeral, at least. Whatever. Masato played with the straw in his glass full of water, definitely expecting Bakugou to arrive at any moment now. Yes, he was an asshole, but he wasn’t the type to not show up to something… Right? There was really no point in pretending he knew him, actually. Empty hope. There wasn’t much dirt to dig up on him to begin with so he was… quite literally grasping at straws right now. Ha. He smiled a little at his joke and looked out the window. It was drizzling again. Every time the door opened, a little bell rung to announce someone’s arrival and he could hear the cars race through the rain. Just as he began to daydream, the bell twittered and familiar grumbles caught his attention. It was that voice. Not only could it cut through glass, he could recognize it despite the low roar of a crowd.  


Alright, maybe because Bakugou yelled the minute he spotted him. He pointed at him like that weird ass lawyer from Ace Attorney does when he’s objecting. He had to cringe a bit, hoping that it wouldn’t pull unnecessary attention towards them. That wasn’t until dessert. “I’m here but not because I want to be!” Masato pointed at himself and looked around before mouthing, ‘Who me?’ Oh, yes, him. The new arrival grabbed a chair, yanked it back, and plopped down before tugging his scarf so hard he almost elbowed Masato’s cup hard enough for it to tip over. It only spun a bit but quickly stabilized itself. He quietly comforted the cup — shh, shh, stay still — as the other boy continued to yell. “My mom saw the stupid fucking text he sent me and assumed it was some girl and tricked me into getting into the car with her. You’re paying for my food, by the way.” He looked at him for a second, pausing and squinting as he thought, but then looked away and continued unbuttoning his jacket. “Actually, fuck that. I’m paying for myself.” Ah. He was that type of person. Didn’t like people paying for his things. Well, it was the Masato was learning more and more about him already.  


“Okay.” He picked up the menu for the restaurant and looked quite content as he looked through the immense selection. He felt that intense gaze settled on him for a few more seconds before Bakugou shook off his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. Eventually, he had hesitantly opened up the menu as well and propped up his head as he skimmed through it, elbow digging into the polished wood of their table. Looking through the menu now, the choices didn’t seem terrible, and reading the descriptions made his stomach quietly grumble. He gripped the laminated paper a bit tighter and he lifted it up higher to hide his face, his cheeks burning as he prayed that Masato didn’t hear it over the lively flock in the restaurant. And he was lucky that he didn’t. Masato was too busy humming to himself, a simple tune by Bach, as he read and Bakugou soon remembered how to breathe. The flood of relief was a bit too early though, because there was a twinkle of mischief in his eye — Masato put down his menu and sighed.  


“Hm, I don’t know if I want anything…” His fingers were back on his straw and he twirled his water around a few times before taking a sip. Bakugou lowered the menu enough so that they could lock eyes.  


“Wh—”  


“… especially when you’re sitting around looking like a full course meal.” He leaned forward and folded his hands to rest his chin on the back of them, smiling slightly. His advance was met with a look of disgust.  


“God, die!” The exclamation was stressed with a slam of his menu on the table. Masato couldn’t help but imagine him as a pokemon, maybe Pikachu because of that hair of his, electrifying him out of fear and embarrassment. He giggled and stuck his tongue out.  


“Not yet… Do you even know how to flirt, Baku?” That question, paired with a slight cock of his head, made Bakugou blush fiercely. No, he didn’t. He tried to look it up the night before, to prepare for this and use his newfound skills against him, but once he practiced it in the mirror, it seemed so unnatural. He couldn’t be charming or sweet or observant in a pleasant way. He had never thought of buying someone flowers or complimenting someone on their hair or even asking someone out on a date. Romance and uneasiness came hand in hand and he avoided anything that could make him look foolish like the plague. He was hoping they’d just cut to the chase and insult each other. Obviously, that was stupid to assume and he knew he was about to experience at least thirty minutes of Hell.  


“I’d rather get hit by a car than be here. Bye.”  


“Wa—,” Masato started as Bakugou began to put on his jacket again but a waitress finally walked up to their table and gave them a cheery smile, asking them what drinks they wanted. He stared at him with a quirked brow, fully expecting him to just stand up and leave, unmoved by the romantic vibes in the air. Song lyrics twisted to match the situation floated through his head as he waited, almost like elevator music, and he impatiently tapped the table. The poor waitress just stared, too anxious to politely excuse herself and break the awkward silence. ‘Will you stay or will you go? If you go, there will be trouble. And if you stay, there will be double. So come on and let us know.’ The indecision was bugging him. If he didn’t want him, all he had to do was set him free. It was that easy.  


“Since he already has his water, I guess I’ll just get lemonade or something.” Oh, she was so relieved that someone finally talked. He let go of the jacket and she wrote down his request, moving onto whatever order they had decided on. Bakugou wanted a hamburger. Masato wanted mozzarella sticks. The waitress gently recovered the menus from them after each other. They sounded like children on a field trip, ordering the safest items on the menu because they were briefly stopping at an unfamiliar restaurant. “And make that to go,” he added as she turned to leave.  


“To go? You’re not gonna stay a while longer so we could finally get to know each other, hm?” This made Masato a bit nervous. This wasn’t the plan. Bakugou had lost his cool briefly but here he was, completely avoiding eye contact now and absentmindedly ripping his napkin to shreds. Didn’t he come on this date to bother him and win? Wasn’t that the point of this whole thing? And he gave up already?  


“I’ve never been on a date but this one sucks ass. I’m getting my food and I’m getting out of here,” Bakugou replied, his words soaked in boredom. They hit Masato like a fucking door. He thought he had the upper hand, he thought this would be a fun way of testing a starry-eyed mistake shat out by society who could easily turn a building into rubble because of criticism. But Bakugou had taken the chess board and thrown it over his head. He had learned that showing disinterest in anything Masato spat at him would be the same as kicking him in the stomach. And if he was forcing him to stay, might as well use that against him.  


“Didn’t know this was an actual date,” he finally grumbled back, dropping the act. Defeated, he slumped over in his chair and slurped his water, glaring at the boy sitting across from him.  


“Okay.”  


“If you liked me that much, you should have just said so.”  


“Okay.”  
“The fact that you’re saying okay because I said oka—”  


“Okay.”  


They sounded like children having an argument. It was concluded by Masato huffing and rolling his eyes. However, what surprised him was catching a smile curl his lips. Bakugou attempted to cover it up by faking a yawn but he caught it and it made him look at him in a different light. Humanized him. Maybe he wasn’t so bad, he didn’t even get to give him a chance because he judged him so quickly. Why was he going after some kid fooled by the media’s portrayal of the news? He didn’t even know why he wanted to be a hero. He didn’t know what he had gone through. No one was taught to question what they see or hear. He chewed on his lip for a bit before speaking up.  


“Why do you want to be a hero, Bakugou?” And for once, he wasn’t trying to shove some dynamite up his ass. It was genuine curiosity. That was the question he asked every hero after he blackmailed them and they always gave him the true answer: greed or fame. It was never about the innocent lives they saved every day. They wanted the spotlight. And deep inside, he was hoping that maybe Bakugou wasn’t one of them. Maybe he was wrong. How rare.  


“I want to win.” Simple. As if the answer was rehearsed, time and time again. Masato froze. No, this new perception of this piece of shit was thrown out the window and hit by a truck. What? What! He wants to win? Win what? He promptly sat up and Bakugou eyeballed him, ready for something stupid as hell to finally unfold. They were finally getting somewhere, huh.  


“What the fuck does that mean? What do you want to win? What is there to win? This isn’t a fucking game of Mario! What’s wrong with you?”  


“It’s none of your business.” The waitress finally came back, again at the worst time imaginable. She really wasn’t paid enough for this. Quietly, she handed over the styrofoam container containing his burger and the cup full of lemonade to Bakugou before gently sliding over Masato’s mozzarella sticks. Masato stared at him, eyebrows furiously furrowed, before they both took out their wallets simultaneously and set down their debit cards. She scurried away before Masato continued.  


“What the hell? None of my business? Of course, it’s my business. Hero shit is my business. I am a citizen of this stupid ass city, my family is affected by the shit heroes do — it’s my business!”  


Bakugou shrugged and sank in his chair, showing no interest in the conversation. But there was that smile again, and this time he didn’t yawn to chase it away. It made him angrier. His heart practically leaped out of his chest.  


“Why are you fucking smiling?” That came out louder than expected but the only ones who heard it were Bakugou and… the waitress. She stood there and cleared her throat, making sure she didn’t accidentally touch or look at either of them as she handed them back their cards. She gave them the generic ‘have a nice day’ and left, most likely to hide behind a counter somewhere until they left so she could clean the table. It embarrassed him, yelling in public like this but he felt like it was warranted. His parents had taught him better.  


“... I got you.”  


“What?”  


“You lost your shit before me. I won. Checkmate, bitch.” The triumphant king of the court slipped his arms into his jacket and took a loud sip from his lemonade before gathering his things and getting up. Time to walk home. His mocking smile grew into a full-blown grin as Masato clumsily hurried to grab his box and put on his own jacket to catch up with him. He almost knocked the chair back with how forcefully he got up and rushed to his side.  


“Stop. No. Was this a setup? Did Mr. Iiurma play me? Did he know? Was it your shitty hero instructor with that gay ass scarf? Who was it? How did you know what would set me off? Did you look me up?” Bakugou simply motioned him to open the door with a swing of his head, since his hands were clearly full, and Masato did. The bell twittered to single their departure. It was still drizzling and now the sky was beginning to darken, the sun setting on the horizon, but none of that mattered to them at that moment. Bakugou continued to sip his lemonade as Masato bombarded him with questions, following him without thinking about what direction they were going until he realized he had followed him all the way home and hadn’t received a single answer.  


“Are we doing this again?” That was the first time he had opened his mouth in twenty minutes. Masato stopped in his tracks and looked down at him. He blinked.  


“... Doing what again?”  


“Are we going on another date? Moron.” He was starting to chew on his straw. Was his burger cold at this point, he wondered? This conversation needed to be over quickly.  


“... Sure, I don’t know. I’d have to check if —”  


“Okay, see ya later.” Bakugou slurped his drink and it made that loud ass noise that’s funny when you do it, but not funny to anyone else around you. Masato’s eyebrows rose. That was it? He raised the hand with the burger box in a second lazy goodbye as he retreated into his house. The door slammed behind him and then there was silence, except for the breeze disturbing some bushes nearby. And Masato just stood there, watching, his mind completely blank at this point even though it had been racing a mile a minute mere only seconds before. The rain picked up a bit. After picking up his balls off the ground, that Bakugou had chopped with four simple words — he sighed, slipped his hands into his pockets, and began the long journey to his house.  


“What the fuck.”


End file.
